Deja Vu All Over Again
by Florence1
Summary: Steve has been through something that no-one should have to go through once. He survived but can he take it a second time around? Set pre season 1 finale. Not slash
1. Chapter 1

Author's note:- I'm back writing after a long absence, and I'm trying to pick up the threads of all of the stories I was working on but in the meantime to get myself back into writing I'm having to go with the things that have caught my imagination recently, hence this story.

**Déjà vu all over again**

**Disclaimer: -** This is a piece of fanfiction written as an homage to a show that I love. No copyright infringement is intended, just a borrowing of interesting characters and situations for entertainment purposes in the hope that nobody minds.

**Synopsis**: Steve has been through something that no-one should have to go through once. He survived but can he take it a second time around?

Set season 1 pre-season finale. Spoilers for the pilot.

**Chapter 1**

"Steve McGarrett and 5-0 have taken down everyone they've gone after since the Governor set up the task force." Sheldon rubbed his hands together before starting to fidget uncomfortably with his dress ring. "It's like being the target of the goddam Terminator. Once he has you in his sights there's no stopping him."

Hughes was tempted to point out that the Terminator had in fact been stopped in 3 films, 2 television series and at least one theme park extravaganza, but he didn't think that it would improve Sheldon's mood any, besides the man paid him too much to accept any form of sarcasm, however warrented it may be. So instead he brushed a non-existent mark from the leg of his expensive suit, uncrossed his legs and leaned slightly forward. "What if I told you I had a way to get him off your back?"

Sheldon shook his head "Ordering a hit on law enforcement officers is special circumstances. That's the death penalty, and that's a step further than I'm prepared to risk." He shifted in his seat. "I'd rather take my chances that they won't put things together in time. I only need a few more days and then I'll be out of here for good."

"And what if they do?"

Sheldon stared for a moment, clearly uncomfortable at the thought, but before he had a chance to reply Hughes continued, "I don't think you need to take that risk. The plan I have doesn't involve killing anyone," Hughes paused looking at Sheldon for permission to continue. He had learnt long ago that it was always best to allow men like him to at least think they were in control.

"I'm listening." Sheldon supplied. If he was aware he was being played, he didn't show it.

"I've been doing some research of my own" Hughes stated, "and I'm fairly sure I know how to take McGarrett and his team out. You just have to know the right buttons to push. If it's done right McGarrett and his team will simply fall apart."

Sheldon studied him for a few moments. "You really think that you can pull that off?"

Hughes nodded. "Despite his reputation Mc Garrett's human like the rest of us and that means he has weaknesses, weaknesses that if you know what you're doing you can exploit."

"Something tells me that I don't want to know the details."

"Probably not, "Hughes confirmed.

"And you're not planning on killing anyone."

"Not planning on it and if I do it won't come back to you. I'll make sure of that."

Sheldon stared for a few moments, clearly thinking things through. "Ok," he said finally.

"So I have your permission to go ahead." Hughes clarified.

Sheldon nodded. "You have my permission."

Hughes allowed himself a small victory smile, he had what he wanted, a chance to take down Lieutenant Commander Stephen McGarrett with all of Sheldon's considerable resources at his disposal. "Thank you Sir." He said sincerely.

50*50*50

McGarrett stared at the armoured troop carrier, trying hard to suppress the memories that it evoked, the last time he'd been inside one it had been blown out from under him in an ambush, orchestrated by the man who shortly thereafter blew his father's brains out, and that wasn't a set of memories he'd choose to evoke, ever.

If he'd had the choice he would've just turned heel jumped back into his truck and driven away at high speed; Hell if he'd had the choice he wouldn't have gotten out in the first place, let alone started walking towards a vehicle that could trigger a physiological response as strong as the one he was experiencing now, the nausea was barely under control, the churning in his gut, the cold sweat all powerful reminders that he did not want to be here, doing what he was doing.

Whoever had chosen this location had chosen perfectly, it was so damn close to the way he remembered, the terrain, the convoy, detail perfect; the only thing missing, a seal team and an escort of MPs. So if Steve had had the choice he would've turned tail and got the Hell out of there, because this couldn't have said set up more clearly if it had had a neon sign. This was meant to mess with his head and the problem was that it was succeeding, so if he'd had any choice, any damn choice at all. . .

He didn't.

He swallowed hard and took another step forward, focusing on the ground again; it was the only way he'd made it this far, focusing on the ground, one step at a time.

Damn! It was a good job he hadn't stayed in the seals; no way he would have lived this reaction down. He forced himself to take another scan of his surroundings, this was a set up but that didn't mean he had to make things easy for them, whoever they were. In fact he intended to do everything in his power to make this as difficult as possible for everyone involved, they were going to regret ever having messed with him or with the people he loved; with that thought came strength, Steve's resolve and determination reasserted themselves. Not that any onlookers would have noticed them missing, the outward signs of his inner turmoil were at best fleeting, a haunted look, deep in expressive eyes, a tight swallow, and then, as now, he would lock it down and get on with what needed to be done.

His scan of the immediate vicinity once again found nothing, well nothing except the damn clear reminder of the day he'd failed to keep his father alive. So he kept his gun pointed forward and down, his hands forming a v shape, raised slightly from hanging down vertically. He tensed for a moment, ready to react to the slightest sign.

There was nothing so he dropped his gaze to the ground again and kept moving until he was within a dozen feet of the door was open, its thick armour plate and interior padding clearly visible, the dark interior was a little more tricky, from this distance the brightness of the sunlight precluded seeing anything within the dark cabin, after all the vehicle had been deliberately designed to keep what was on the outside outside and that seemed to include light. So the only way he was going to get any idea of what was waiting for him on the inside was to go in.

Steve gave another small swallow, raising his gun and scanning the vehicle again. He had no choice but to move forward and delaying the move held no tactical advantage, whoever had set this up, left this here, knew that he was coming and if they were waiting inside to ambush him. . .

Steve made his next moves quick and skillful sprinting forwards and flattening against the side of the troop carrier; it allowed him to get a partial view inside; he wasn't surprised when that view yielded nothing. He leant back again, using the solid support behind him as a prop for just a moment; closing his eyes he drew in a deep breath, a muscle along his jawline twitching in response to the twin stimuli of tension and adrenaline. It was a fleeting moment of stillness and then his eyes opened and he exploded forward round and up, gun and eyes sweeping the interior cabin efficiently even as he established his new defensive stance.

Nothing!

Nothing but empty seats,For a moment he wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed, because at least if there had been someone there, then at least he would have someone or something to fight, someone to be the focus for his anger and frustration. The Lt. Commander dropped back into a state of preternatural stillness, broken only by the rise and fall of his chest, as lungs desperately sucked in oxygen to supply overtense muscles, but even that had a deceptive calm and control about it. It was a good physical analogy of his emotions, outer calm masking inner turmoil.

He stood silently scanning; his weapon lowered, and allowed his brain to catch up with instinct and action.

He should have known the cabin of the vehicle would be empty; no-one would set up a trap this elaborate and then just shoot him. No, this was cold, calculating, deliberate, meant to keep him on edge, throw him off his game and he couldn't afford. . .not with . . .

Damn, he closed his eyes again shaking his head briefly as he once again shoved the emotion deep. This was not the time or the place, he'd deal later, better yet he'd deal never, yeah, never dealing with this particular set of emotions, ever, seemed like a much better option. If only it were that easy.

He was moving forward even as his eyes reopened. He needed to look for the next step, find out why he had been brought here. What the hell could these people. . .?

His phone rang.

It made him jump, his already elevated heart-rate taking another spike. He was supposed to be ready for anything but somehow the familiar tone was startling, just like last time.

"You'd better answer that." Steve whirled round scanning the empty cabin for the source of the voice "You don't talk to your partner nearly enough."

There was still no-one there, his mind spiraled him back in time to a day nearly a year ago now, the words were so close even the accent was. . . Had he just heard that, was he hallucinating? remembering? He sank down onto the seat, gun lowering. What the Hell. . .?

The phone was still ringing its insistent tones drawing back his attention. He pulled it out, and looked down at the caller ID, knowing what he would see even before he looked.

No he couldn't do this again, not like this.

These bastards were repeating everything exactly as. . .which meant. . . He looked at the screen and sure enough a single name was displayed there-

DANNY.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note; By virtue of the plot many of the phrases spoken by the characters in this chapter were written by somebody else and by using them I am not intending to breach copyright, nor to claim them as my own. I use them for purely entertainment purposes with full acknowledgement to the writer's of the Hawaii five-0 pilot. Secondly as far as I am concerned any mention of love is purely in the platonic sense. Hope you enjoy and thank you so much for all the reviews and encouragement for the first chapter- J

**Chapter2**

There was a break in the ringing as Steve's phone went to voicemail. It was brief just long enough to hang up and hit redial. Steve didn't notice it; he stared at the name on the screen his mind scrambling in a twist of implications and possibilities, memories and reactions.

"You should answer that," the disembodied voice repeated. "You don't speak to your partner nearly enough."

This time when Steve looked up he saw Anton Hesse, cocky, confident, taunting him with his words; the ambient background noise in the cabin suddenly filled with the low hum of an engine and persistent static hiss of the radio; the seats around him now occupied by the rest of the assigned escort, men under his command, men he did not know that well, men soon to be dead, something else to feel responsible for, to feel guilt for, because at the time he did not have the emotional capacity to deal with their deaths and his father's, could not deal. . . Could not think. . Damn! He'd let them down too in life and in death, because he hadn't kept them alive, and when they were gone he'd never given their deaths the consideration it needed;he barely remembered the official detachment of the mission report, the debrief; he'd been so wrapped up in his own grief and guilt. He blinked and the face disappeared to be replaced by empty space, the background noise dropped back to silence and once again he was alone.

He looked back down at the screen, Danny's name staring at him, the phone still ringing insistently; the dread and foreboding he'd felt a year ago when answering the phone to his father was nothing compared to now, as he forced a shaky hand up to his ear and hit the connect button, hoping and praying that this wasn't what he knew it was, that Danny was ringing him to say this had all been some big misunderstanding, that he was fine and free and this whole living nightmare wasn't being repeated for him because. . .

"Danny?" Steve heard himself ask, the quiver in his voice unmistakeable.

"Hey Steve," Danny's voice sounded weak thready and was followed almost immediately by a scream of pain.

"Danny!" Steve almost screamed himself in fear and frustration,because dammit what the Hell . . .? "Danny?" and this time the pleading and desperation were clear, please don't let this be happening, please don't let him be hurting, please. . . .

"Sorry about this Steve, we're having a little trouble persuading your partner to stick to the script."

"Script?" Steve automatically questioned.

There were muffled words spoken at the other end of the line that Steve couldn't quite make out but Danny could.

"If you really think that listening to your screams is better than using the words, that works just as well for me." Hughes spoke into Danny's ear from behind, tone low, threatening. "Your choice."

Danny stared forward for a moment as the phone was put to his ear, and tried to make an impossible choice. If it was just a matter of taking the pain, then he would willingly do it, but these bastards knew what they were doing, they had him hooked up to a voltage designed to cause excrutiating pain, and when they used it he would scream, there was simply no way to endure this silently, and would that really be better for Steve than what they were asking him to do? And how the Hell did you make a decision like this? All he had to do was decide which would screw up his partner more.

"Hey Champ," Danny did his best to put apology into his tone. Damn he hope Steve understood, knew that he didn't want to put him through this, knew that. . .

"You all right?" Steve answered automatically, his eyes closing on the forming tears.

"Who are these people Steve?" Danny asked, ironically it was one of many questions he'd like answered, forced to ask it or not. The phone was abruptly pulled away from his ear.

"Now I know where you get it from." Hughes spoke with the heavy Irish accent he'd been practicing. "You've got a tough partner here." Apparently it was all right for him to change some of the words in the script, but each word was still as cutting. "Steve, we both have something to lose here. So listen to me very carefully. I'm offering you a trade, your partner for my brother.

Steve was fighting, fighting to keep it together: fighting to hold his emotions in check, to keep himself enough on the right side of sanity to function. "Look I don't know who the hell you are," he interrupted, " but. . ." He was cut off by another scream from Danny.

"Now tell me Steve, you haven't forgotten the rules already?" Hughes asked, his tone patronizing. "You need to stick to the script."

"What if I can't remember?" Steve asked

Another scream, this time strangled off as though Danny were trying to fight it, to not let him know how much they were hurting him.

"You remember." The statement was unequivocal.

Steve remembered, in his nightmares, in haunting flashbacks, in unguarded moments; Steve remembered.

"So now, let's try again- I'm offering you a trade, your partner for my brother. All things considered I'd say that's more than generous, wouldn't you?"

Steve drew in a deep breath before providing the next line. "You're smart enough to know that's never gonna happen."

"I appreciate the compliment." There was an unbearable smugness in the tone at Steve's capitulation. "Are you smart enough?"

Steve closed his eyes swallowing tightly, the next words forming in his mind as he simultaneously spoke along with his remembered self, virtual stereo sounding in his head. "Come on Victor," except it wasn't Victor and he still didn't have a damn clue who it was, who was doing this to him, to Danny. "You know how this works. We don't negotiate with terrorists."

"Make an exception."

"I'm not going to negotiate like this."

"Oh, are we negotiating now?"

Steve tried hard to inject the necessary threat, to make his next line convincing as he had so many months ago, but it was hard to even get the words out. "You kill him, you get nothing."

"Give me the phone," Danny's voice was distant muffled just as his father's had been. "Please. I can get him to help you. He'll listen to me, he's my partner," and Steve didn't think Danny believed that any more than his father had, because Steve knew that he hadn't listened to either of them nearly enough, if he had then maybe. .

"Listen to me champ . . " Danny's words were clear now as the phone was once again placed next to his ear.

"Danny," Steve interrupted desperately, as he'd interrupted his father because he'd needed to make him a promise but now that promise was almost impossible to force out, because dammit, he couldn't keep it the last time why the Hell should Danny believe he could do it now? Hell! If only. . ." I'm going to get you out of there all right?" Tears rolled down Steve's cheeks as he spoke words that he knew weren't true; the last time he'd spoken them, he'd had hope, belief in himself, but now there were only waves of despair, hopelessness, past failure feeding premonitions of what was going to happen, of what he was powerless to stop.

"Don't worry about it." There was a sincerity in Danny's tone that made the words his own. An implied forgiveness that almost broke Steve. Well, almost shattered him quickly instead of the painfully slow fractures that were shredding pieces from his psyche, second by second.

"I'm sorry I. . ." There was a long pause. "No!" Danny stated forcefully, he turned his gaze to Hughes, twisting awkwardly in the chair he was tied to, staring for the first time into the brown eyes of his captor, eyes so dark they were almost black. "Shock me again do whatever you damn well please but I will not do this."

Hughes held up his hand to stop any punishment for Danny's lack of cooperation, interested as to where this would go, confident he could get the man back to the script when he needed.

"I will not tell my partner that I lied to him because I have never," Suddenly this seemed to be the most important thing in Danny's world, because it was clear where all this was leading, and Danny knew that this could be his last conversation ever, his last chance to speak to his partner, to let him know. . .and he was having to use someone else's words, someone else's sentiments. He was supposed to tell Steve that he. . .but Danny didn't want Steve to think that of him, didn't want him wondering, didn't want to leave any doubt that. . .. "I have never lied to him." He stated emphatically.

"Duly noted," Hughes said," but you will return to the script now." Hughes dropped his hand and Danny felt the searing shock and he couldn't hold back the scream once again. The other shocks had been short lived but this went on, muscles tensing beyond any reasonable point as the pain continued to drag cries from his already raw throat.

"Danny," Steve pleaded, "Look whoever you are please just stop; he'll cooperate; Danny please just tell me what he wants to hear."

There was silence for a few moments broken only by Danny's steadying breathing as the pain subsided. The phone was placed to his ear once more. "I'm sorry that I lied to you." Danny stated quietly.

"What? Lied to me about what, Danny?" Steve closed his eyes again in relief, as he tried to stem further tears. "What are you talking about?"

Danny was staring forward again, his eyes defocused as he tried not to acknowledge the situation he was in, repressed the memories of a crime scene, the body still there, blood and brain matter smeared across half a wall; his tied hands balled into fists, nails digging into his palms. At least the next words, he meant, because Steve was as close to him as family. "I love you, Steve." He stated, once again allowing the sincerity to flow through his words, his own tears flowing freely now, because he was going to die, and when he did he would take Steve's sanity with him, and it was all the harder because he did love the man. It took him a moment before he could continue. "I didn't say it nearly enough." didn't say it ever; the thought tumbled into a pile of regret that was sitting just on the edge of his consciousness and was swallowed up with so many others.

Danny felt the nudge as the next line on the script was pointed out to him. How the Hell had Steve's father managed to get anything out after that. He swallowed against the dryness in his mouth and throat "Whatever these people want Steve, don't give it to them," another line he could be sincere about. "Don't you give it to them," the phone was yanked away from his ear and a fist connected painfully with his jaw, sending his head spinning as he grunted from the force of the blow.

"Danny? Danny?" Steve's cry held the same desperation it had the last time around because he felt the same desperation and more. The last time he had at least had something to bargain with at this point; there was still a chance, but the psychotic bastard who was orchestrating this particular walk through Steve's nightmares clearly wanted nothing more than for him to suffer and would use anything, anyone.

"No more games! I'm taking my brother now!"

"I swear to God," Steve spat out every word, trying to make it clear that he meant these words that he wasn't just saying them because he was being forced to relive them. "I will hunt you down and I will kill you."

The disembodied voice returned to the cabin. "Hey, Boom" and the jeep behind the troop carrier exploded.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note: Thanks so much for the support and the reviews. It is certainly encouraging me to get back into my writing. I hope you enjoy. As ever let me know- J

**Chapter 3 **

The whole of the interior of the vehicle shook with the force of the explosion and instantly the cabin was alive with sound. Comms talk buzzed in the background as the unmistakable sound of the attack chopper manoeuvring around them dropped Steve back into his memories. He wasn't sure which sounds were real and which, if any imagined, wasn't sure how much of his sense of being under attack was real or imagined either, but nonetheless powerful instincts of self preservation took over. He pulled the tac vest from its storage spot above one of the seats and fastened the velcro strips before unclipping the automatic weapon from the front and fingering the setting to semi-automatic fire. As he checked the clip the back exit door of the vehicle exploded outwards and he could almost see Sergeant Dryden shouldering it out.

Steve knew he was vulnerable even before a second rocket hit the jeep behind the truck. It exploded in a mushroom of orange flame, leaping into the air before tumbling back to the ground upside down. He felt the searing blast of heat as his vehicle rocked from the massive concussive shock wave. He didn't have time to recover before bullets slammed into the seat beside him and he looked out to the black clad men repelling down from the chopper. He still wasn't sure how much of this was real and how much his overactive memory, but he returned fire sending his enemy or his ghosts scattering as they dropped to the ground.

Were they real? Could he trust his senses when the ghosts of his colleagues still spoke into his non-existent earpiece, when he saw men long dead if he turned to look. . . How would he know what was real? What was. . . He felt a familiar punch in the arm that told him he'd been hit, and reality bit.

Time to move.

He popped the overhead hatch, hauling himself onto the roof scanning for threats as he emerged; the smoke from the two burning vehicles gave him cover. There were three of them, like last time but unlike last time these men were not professionally trained. Steve could tell that from the way they had positioned themselves, from the way they moved. It gave him a chance. He mentally calculated the odds, action and reaction; the threat assessment taking a fraction of a second because that was all he had, and then he was firing; moving before he'd even acknowledged to himself the best course to follow, in a firefight instinct ruled.

The hail of bullets that he released as he jumped down the front of the armored vehicle, took out one of his opponents, a poor choice of cover sealing the man's fate and then Steve was down hitting the ground rolling, using the vehicle as a shield from the remaining two gunmen. He let himself drop flat crab crawling backwards between the wheels and then he waited, breathing heavily, adrenaline pumping, every muscle in his body screaming at him to take action.

He remained still.

The human brain was preprogrammed to respond to anything that moved; survival required spotting predators and prey quickly, and picking out movement from surrounding stillness was evolution's answer, adequate unless your enemy knew how to remain still; Steve did.

Steve watched and waited. The two remaining men split up, preparing to trap Steve in their crossfire based on where they thought he was. He waited until one of them passed close by his position, then crept out silently, moved into place behind him and struck just as the man broke cover around the side of the vehicle to where he expected Steve to be. Double shock, one, Steve wasn't there; two, Steve had the drop on him. Expertly trained hands took a choke hold around his neck and took charge of his weapon.

Steve used the weapon to spray an arc of fire that cut the remaining gunman in half, he swivelled the gun arm back and round, peppering the ground and the downed man just for good measure, before twisting his hand to the pressure-point just behind his captive's thumb so that his weapon dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers to the ground. Then he increased the pressure around the man's throat, bringing his other hand back to press against the skull, one twist and his neck would be broken, Steve almost did it, almost made that final short jerking motion that would snap the man's spine, but he managed to stop himself, to pull back from the animal instincts that took over in a kill or be killed fight, allowing higher reasoning to take over. This man worked for the man who had Danny, he could have information, could be useful to keep alive.

He leaned forward taking huge gulps of breath to provide the oxygen his adrenaline soaked muscles needed and spoke into the man's ear in gravelly gasps. "If I twist now I can snap your neck like a popsicle stick." He pressed a little harder onto the man's throat strangling off his breathing just a little more. "Or maybe I just keep pressing until you stroke out from lack of oxygen to the brain" He dropped his voice even lower, "I know at least 15 other ways to kill you with my bare hands from this position, some of them more painful than others. Nod to let me know you understand."

Steve eased off the pressure just enough to let the man give a small nod.

"Good, now, the man you are working for has a very good friend of mine. So you are going to tell me everything you know about him, or I am going to use the slowest and most painful of those techniques to kill you." Steve twisted the man's head and pressed, eliciting a strangled grunt of pain from his captive; he couldn't draw sufficient breath for more. "Do we understand each other?"

The man gave another small nod.

"OK," Steve threw the man to the floor, and had his pistol out and pointing at the man's head before he had time to roll over. "Start talking."

The sound of the bullets thudding into the ground registered slightly after the body of the man in front of him jerked from the impact. Steve threw himself to the ground, rolling out of the way and simultaneously bringing up his pistol to fire on the forgotten about chopper as it swung in and flew towards them. The man's body danced up and down as though it was a puppet being bounced on hidden strings, as more bullets from a high powered weapon thudded into it, the chopper angled low, overhead. Steve's bullets bouncing off the fuselage, missing anything vital; in less than a second it was over them and then moving away.

Steve continued to fire, rolling to a standing position so he could take better aim at the now retreating chopper, even though he knew it had moved out of range, knew it was long over for his prisoner, knew that he had lost his last, perhaps only, chance to save Danny and that bringing the chopper down, or not, would do nothing to change that. He continued to fire until his gun clicked, empty; he squeezed the trigger once, twice more in the direction of the retreating dot, then he dropped his hands, continuing to watch for a second then two, before an urgent thought dragged him back and he turned to look at the man on the ground, the man he needed alive. He half turned away in exasperation then forced himself forward. He had to see if there was anything. . .

"C'mon," he muttered, moving to the body and dropping to one knee; he tried to check the wounds, feeling for a pulse. "C'mon Anton," he said to the man who was not Anton Hesse, his words were laced with panic, confusion, his thoughts splintering. He loosened the flack jacket trying to get a better look at the wounds, but he knew it was hopeless, there was too much blood, the wounds were. . . Damn! "No no . .no. . ." Frustration and pain edged his voice. There was nothing he could do to save him, nothing. . . He shouldn't have. . . But he hadn't had a choice; he'd had to kill. . . Hesse had the drop on him, had a gun would have. . .No! No! This wasn't Anton Hesse; this wasn't. . .Steve's reality flipped between past and present, thoughts and emotions tying the two situations together so completely that he was struggling to keep things straight, to sort out memory from reality. He shouldn't have fired, shouldn't have killed. . no, he hadn't . . .not this time, it had been the chopper, they'd. . .This wasn't. . .Damn! Why had he killed him? Why couldn't he. . .?

His phone started to ring.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .


	4. Chapter 4

Author's note: Thank you so much for the continuing support, reviews are greatly appreciated and every one gives me encouragement to write more so thanks- Let me know what you think- J

**Chapter 4 **

Steve pulled out his cell phone standing as he did so, as if distancing himself from the body would make it less real. He took a step back, staring at the phone, willing it to stop; he could just not answer it, ignore it, maybe. . .but he knew whatever he did the outcome would be the same.

So it didn't matter, answer, don't answer. It wouldn't make. . . Maybe he could reason.. . .? What would they do if he didn't answer? Would they still . . .?

He took another step back and hit connect.

"What happened?" The questioning voice sounded angry.

"Victor listen. . ." Steve heard the desperation in his own voice. Part of his brain screamed that this wasn't Victor, but even if he'd listened it wouldn't have changed anything because that part of him also knew that any changes to what he said meant more torture for Danny.

Danny! He needed to protect. . . needed to save . . .

And still part of him was back talking to Victor, trying to stop him from killing his father, trying to change what he knew would happen because. . .

"Put Darren on the phone."

Steve looked down at the body; his mind not catching the change of name, not acknowledging anything but the absence of life. He was responsible and because of that death. . . He was almost strangled by his own frustration.

He had to stop this, had to prevent. . . had to save. .. . No, it was too late; he had messed up. He couldn't. . .

"My brother is dead isn't he?"

Steve couldn't answer, couldn't find the words in an impossibly dry throat, but he needed to say something because this bastard was about to kill Danny.

"Isn't he?"

Danny!

Steve was suddenly fully back in the present. He wasn't reliving an old nightmare he was experiencing a whole new one, and this seemed worse, so much worse. His relationship with his father had been strained at best, but Danny. . .Danny he was so close to. Emotionally closer than he'd ever been to anyone, in the few short months since he'd met him, the man had broken down his defences, become his friend, his family. Steve had shared more than he ever had with his father and now he was about to lose. . . and the loss would be more immediate, more profound, would have more impact on Steve's life, and wasn't that a year in therapy all on its own, but if he lost him, lost him like this?

A lifetime in therapy wouldn't be enough.

No, he couldn't let Danny be killed, couldn't go through this again. He had to.. . .there had to be something. "Please," he begged, he was going off script but now he didn't care."I'll do anything, please. . ."

But his adversary wasn't listening any more than Victor had been. "Then so is your partner."

The gunshot blasted through the phone and Steve's scream of denial was even louder than the last time; it tore from his throat, ripping at his vocal cords, hoarse and gutteral, at once intense and piteous; waves of sound spread and splintered each carrying a piece of Steve's sanity away with it, and then there was silence.

H50H50

Danny wasn't sure at what point he'd accepted that he was going to die, but he knew that he was; the man who held him captive, the man who was torturing him, the man who was deriving pleasure from taunting his partner, was clearly insane. He'd seen that in his eyes, heard it in his voice; there would be no reasoning with this man because he did not understand reason.

Danny hadn't been privy to all of the details of Steve's last conversation with his father but he knew enough to know that Steve was being made to relive it, knew that somehow his captor did have all of the details. He also knew how it turned out for the captee in this particular scenario, had the glorious memories in full techicolour because he'd been the first detective at the scene; it was how come he'd caught the case. He'd seen the body, the lifeless eyes, the huge exit wound that had taken out half of Steve's father's skull, blood and brain matter sprayed across the floor and wall. He was glad it had been cleared long before Steve got back. No man should ever have to see something like that, especially not when it was someone you were related to, especially not when it was destined to be your own fate.

In his last few minutes of life, Danny found himself feeling sorry for the poor bastard who was going to find him, and hoping fervently that they could keep Steve away because. .

The phone reconnected and distantly he could hear the madman talking to Steve and Steve's increasingly desperate replies. Time slowed, everything except his thoughts faded into background, and now his thoughts were of only one person- Grace. The emotions swirled, tying his insides in churning painful knots of sorrow and regret.

He felt her pain as she was told she had lost her father, her Danno, and then he saw all of the things in her life he was going to miss; his beautiful daughter dressed for the prom, graduating, walking down the aisle, holding his first grandchild, the sense of loss was overwhelming, unbearable. . .and now. . .

"Please," Danny heard his partner beg. "Please I'll do anything. . ." And he knew Steve would but there was nothing he could do.

It was too late.

Danny closed his eyes on the tears he could no longer control; he did not want his last sight on this earth to be the face of the madman who killed him. Instead he focused on memories of his daughter; Grace should be his last thought.

The gunshot was deafening, Steve's scream agonizing.

Silence.

It took him a moment, then another. He opened his eyes, blinked, his brain still not quite the Hell. . .? He was still alive.

Danny Williams was still alive!

TO BE CONTINUED. . .


	5. Chapter 5

Author's note: Apologies for the delay in posting- excuses include- my fourth broken mobile phone! A computer virus that blocks anti-virus scans! And lack of decent internet connection in my chosen holiday destination- the Outer Hebrides. Hope you forgive me and that you enjoy. Let me know- J

**Chapter 5**

Danny had heard the expression 'let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding' but he'd never been so conscious of its meaning. From the burning in his lungs he guessed he must have been holding on to the lungful of air for a while, but he honestly wasn't conscious of doing so. Only now as the air escaped in an explosive sigh and he sucked air in hungrily to replace it, did he realise, he had literally stopped breathing long before what should have been the fatal shot. He looked up and met the eyes of his tormentor. He didn't even attempt to hide the emotion, the hatred, the contempt, the relief. "Why?" He questioned quietly, unable to stop himself giving voice to the word that encompassed so many questions that he wanted to know the answer to.

"Why aren't you dead?" Hughes clarified.

Danny gave a slight nod; that was one of the questions on the list.

"Because I had to promise my boss that I wouldn't kill anyone." He paused for a moment. "Shame really," he looked down at the gun he still held, giving it a slight stroke, then he met Danny's gaze again. "It would have been so much more satisfying if I could have left him your corpse to find."

"You know that you're insane right?" Danny would have gestured with his hands at this point if they hadn't been cuffed tightly to the chair; his muscles twitched putting pressure on already sore wrists. It wasn't that he'd pulled uselessly at the cuffs that held him in an effort to escape; he'd known the futility of that course within seconds of coming round, strapped to a chair, three armed men, and a headache the size of a mountain. He'd known then that he was screwed, so fighting was not an option, unless they took it upon themselves to split up and leave him better odds, not to mention helpfully uncuffing him first and removing the other bindings that held him securely in place, No, he had tugged at the cuffs rubbing the skin raw because they'd sent jolts of pain inducing electricity coursing through his system; his muscles had tensed so tightly he'd almost dragged his hands through the too small gap, leaving his skin behind, and then there was listening to Steve slowly falling apart, being forced to participate in the torture of his friend; that had brought about an involuntary muscle tensing all of its own, more pressure on already torn and bruised wrists so that now even the slightest movement, one brought about by Danny's innate need to talk with his hands, even that had him holding back the grimace of pain. He kept his gaze on his captor steady. "Whatever it is you want from this, you'll never. . ," The blow hit Danny across the cheek, the hard metal of the gun contacting with his ear and he literally saw stars.

Danny wasn't sure of many of the words spoken by Hughes, punctuated as they were by blows to his chest and abdomen, after that first blow he'd avoided the head, probably something to do with not wanting to kill him, but the gist was that he wanted Steve to suffer, to break, and although he'd promised not to kill Danny he had no compunction about making him suffer, as by design that would make Steve suffer too.

"You know you're lucky," Hughes had finally stopped hitting him and was crouched at eye level.

Danny had many responses. He could have laughed or cried, or more correctly in Danny land, set off on a long rant about how nothing, from being hit on the head, kidnapped, tortured, beaten not to mention, knowingly participating in what was done to Steve, none of this could lead to him being described as lucky, but he didn't because he was too busy trying not to puke or pass out.

"At least Commander MacGarrett gives a damn about you." Hughes continued unprompted. "I had thought that I'd have to go after his sister to get the response I needed, but no. I just needed you. Why do you think that is? Why does he care so much whether you live or die? Hmm!" Hughes stroked the barrel of the gun down the side of Danny's face and for a moment Danny thought he was going to pull it back and hit him again. "You see Commander MacGarrett's normally all about the mission, regardless of who lives or dies. You should just be so much collateral damage and yet he's kept you alive, cares about you. What makes you so special?" The last words were almost spat. He stood anger colouring his features, the gun barrel moving across to dig into the centre of Danny's temple as his finger began to tighten on the trigger. "You're not special! You're not better than. . .I should just kill you and damn the consequences, then maybe he'll know. . ."

"Sir," the voice was loud firm. A hand rested on Hughes' gun arm. "Sir, no. You told me to stop you."

Hughes struggled for a moment clearly fighting himself, then he looked at the hand holding him near the wrist, followed the arm back to its owner and met his young subordinates gaze. "I told you to stop me?" He asked carefully, struggling to pull back.

"Yes sir."

Hughes slowly released the pressure on the trigger and pulled the gun back from where it had left a red indentation in Danny's skin.

Danny wasn't surprised this time at the huge gasp for air he needed to take. He had seen the red haze of anger descend over Hughes and had been certain this time that he wouldn't be taking another breath, certain that he was going to die- again!

Hughes dropped the gun to his side. "Okay, we're done, let's get out of here."

Danny watched dazed as they gathered up their torture equipment ripping off the electrodes from over-sensitive skin; he barely reacted; it was just more pain and there was so much of that already. He hid the wince, shifted slightly and. . . He would have thought that at this point that he was beyond being shocked, beyond finding anything shocking after what he'd been through but the spray of liquid, the swish and slosh, the splat and smell as the bucket of blood and who knew what the hell else was thrown past him to hit the wall. That was somehow more shocking than everything had been before, and if the temptation to gag had been high before it was virtually overwhelming as he turned to see the pattern of blood and gore that now coated the wall and floor by his head. It didn't exactly mirror what he had seen when he'd visited the crime scene and Steve's father's body, but it was close enough to. . .

"Last piece of window dressing for our friend Commander MacGarrett when he finds you." Hughes stated as Danny turned slowly to look at him. "I hope he appreciates the attention to detail. You will tell him when you wake up." Hughes gave a small nod and before Danny could even get out some of the more choice epithets he had for Hughes he felt the pinprick of a needle in his upper arm and the world faded to black.

H50H50H50

Steve stood his eyes focused on the middle distance but he saw nothing, heard nothing, felt nothing, understood nothing. There was no sensation of time passing, no sensation of anything at all; to say that he was numb was an understatement because that implied some awareness that there should be sensation there and that it was missing and Steve had no awareness at all.

A slow niggling like an itch finally started to register in a mind that wasn't really there. There was something unfinished, something that had to be done, something that he owed. . .at the very least he owed. . .for a moment the emotion threatened and if he allowed that. . No, he shut it back down, almost shut down completely again, except there was something. . . He had to get past the emotion because there was something very important that he had to do and he couldn't let. . . He had to. . . Duty, his mind grabbed onto the word like a lifeline, follow orders, do his duty, his brain had been pre-programmed whatever the circumstances to follow orders, do his duty and if he had a duty to do something then he could do it, would do it.

He looked down; his cell phone was still in his hand. He was surprised. He thought he'd hurled it away, after the shot, after the scream. With the overwhelming pain and frustration, anger and helplessness; he was sure he had hurled it into the distance, turned and thrown it into the fire behind him, his only connection to. . to. .

Duty, he had a duty to find Danny, to be the one who. . . He had a duty; he stopped thinking beyond that point, because anything else was going to take away his ability to function. Don't think just do!

The cell phone was still in his hand, he had just stood there, he hadn't thrown it, hadn't hurled it away, hadn't fallen to his knees screaming and yelling and crying, or at least he hadn't done any of that anywhere other than his mind. He had too much control for that, too much. . .Yeah, the damn control just wiped his mind so that he couldn't. . .

Duty

He lifted the cell phone and hit speed dial.

"Steve, that you Brah?" Chin asked, his voice unusually agitated. "Did you find anything, have you. . ."

"It was a set up," Steve stated.

That led to a pause while the fellow Hawaiian wrapped his head around what had been said. Danny had been missing since that morning. Steve had gone off to follow an anonymous tip, while Chin worked the office, Danny's enemies, past cases, people who might target him because he was part of 50. Kono was working the area around his apartment; it looked like he'd been taken from there, violently taken from there.

"Set up?" Chin echoed.

"They were after me. They wanted me to. . .He said. . . they knew everything Chin, every word and I couldn't. . ."

"Steve," Chin tried to interrupt; Steve wasn't making a lot of sense. "I don't know who you're talking about. Did you find Danny? Did you talk to Danny?"

Steve took a breath. "I heard him but they made him say. . .Dammit they were. . ." but he couldn't get the words out, couldn't tell Chin about the torture and the screams and the echoes of his father's words, couldn't get those words. . . because that would allow the emotion and he couldn't. . .

"Who Steve?" Chin decided to concentrate on a single question; it was disconcerting to hear Steve so. . .so. . he couldn't quite put a word to it. No, he could; he just didn't want to; Steve sounded broken.

"I don't know," Steve admitted.

"What about Danny?" Chin asked, trying hard to retain a calm that he didn't normally have a problem with, but then Danny wasn't normally missing, and Steve wasn't normally. . .

"They. . ." Steve tried hard to hold it together to ignore the emotion. It was his responsibility to find Danny to look after Danny, even when. . . especially when. . ."They killed him Chin. They killed Danny."

TO BE CONTINUED. . .


	6. Chapter 6

Author's note: many apologies for the delay, next chapter of shift is coming soon too. As ever many many thanks to all of you who have reviewed, it's you that keep my muse happy and my muse that keeps me writing so please let me know what you think- J

**Chapter 6**

Steve somehow made it back to his truck; he must have done because he was driving it, but he had no recollection of how, no idea of how, or if, he had completed his conversation with Chin. He concentrated, trying hard to remember; a small part of him aware that these gaps in his memory should concern him, that he should know what he told Chin, and he should have at least some memories of his journey to this point. So he concentrated, he tried to recall, tried to make his mind work just a little like it should, because he was also aware that he was barely hanging on, that the slips his conscious mind was taking were on the brink. He had seen men who had slid over the edge, lost themselves in a chasm of nothingness and he knew in these moments of lucidity that, that was where he was heading, if he couldn't. . . He hit the steering wheel; swore softly over and over to himself because he still had too much control to scream and yell, too much control to swerve the car over into the nearest ditch and take the easy way out, the cowards way out of his suffering, but the temptation was there, the desire was there because he knew that eventually he would have to let the pain out, and that that pain would be unbearable, so maybe he should just. . .

What had he told Chin? Had he told him that he knew where Danny was? Would he meet him there? Get there first? Would Chin send a bunch of anonymous HPD uniforms to find. . . No, he would know this was personal, private, that 50 should take care of its own, wouldn't he? Did he tell him where. . .?

505050

By the time Kono got back to the palace Chin was almost frantic. Kono had never seen her cousin this stressed, not even when he'd had an explosive remotely detonated collar strapped around his throat. He was tapping away at the screen in front of him making full use of the high-tech touchscreen's advanced capabilities to slide boxes of information in and out of use, as skillful fingers manipulated the data to find what he needed.

"What. . .?" She began, but she didn't get a chance to finish. Chin was moving, checking his weapon as he moved from the console.

"I got a call from Steve." He said, walking past his cousin because time was of the essence and they needed to move. She had already started to follow him when he stopped and turned to face her. No, this wasn't a conversation that they could have on the move; it wouldn't be fair. He took a breath, looking down first and then bringing his gaze up to meet hers. "He said they," a pause, a swallow, "he said they killed Danny." He held up his hand to stave off any of the myriad of questions that he knew Kono wanted to ask, knew because they were the same questions that he wanted to ask, wanted, no, needed the answers to, but he had no more information beyond that one sentence. No that wasn't quite true either; he knew that Steve was in trouble too. He gave Kono a moment as shock and disbelief registered, tried not to notice the glistening tears that formed at the edges of her vision because he knew that he could match them with his own, but there would be time for that when this was over, until then emotions had to be controlled He took a breath then continued. "I don't know any more than that. I lost contact with him." Again not quite true, his cell was still connected, the line still open even now, but Steve wasn't answering, didn,'t answer Chin' s frantic questions, didn't answer to the repeated yells of his name, and Chin didn't know why; had something happened to Steve? He'd said he'd been set up, how? Why? Had they got him too, was he. . ? "I've managed to trace his cell. I've got a chopper standing by and tactical support units on their way."

To her credit Kono didn't hesitate, her mind was still reeling from the shock of her cousin's statement and she knew that maintaining that functional numbness was the key to being able to do her job. So she did her best to lock down the emotion. It wasn't easy, and wasn't likely to get better, but she had been given an incredible opportunity when Steve had picked her for 50 and she wasn't about to let him down, not even when. . . She swallowed hard "Then let's move."

505050

Steve was standing in front of his own front door gun in hand, defensive stance, balanced and ready for action. Ready to take on whatever. . . Ready to. . .He shook his head; he wasn't even fooling himself.

He was not ready to open that door, was not ready to face what was behind it, could wait a hundred years and wouldn't be ready to see, to know. . . Because at that moment he didn't know, not for sure, not until. . .

Bullshit! He knew, just like he knew when his dad. . . He knew and unlike last time when he'd been too far away, this time he could take care of it, this time he could be there; he could. . . He should. . .because he was responsible, it was his fault, his mess to clean up, no not. . .It just should be him who took care of this, took care of him, should have been him the last time when his father. . .

Damn, he needed to keep it together, needed to keep his thoughts straight, needed to use these feelings to help keep him going, not let them tear him apart. He tried to focus again on his responsibilities, that powerful sense of duty, of loyalty to a partner and a friend. It had been enough to pull him this far and it would be enough, it had to be enough, to see him through this.

He closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath and kicked the door open. His eyes opening with a laser focus as he moved forward gun leading. Long practiced, skillful moves swept the room for danger, checking all directions, moving swiftly confidently until he saw,. . . and in that moment he knew it wasn't enough, God help him, it wasn't nearly enough.

"Danny," he whispered. "Oh God Danny."

His hand had dropped down to his side, his gun hanging loosely, not dropped only by virtue of the fact that a finger was still bent through the trigger guard. All of his training at that point could not have defended him from any form of attack, because to do so Steve would have to be capable of responding to an external stimulus, would have to be capable of sensing. Even long automated responses honed by years of instruction and field experience needed the stimulus to be felt, and Steve was beyond feeling, from the outside anyway.

The sight of Danny, of the blood, his blood sprayed across the wall, his body slumped, lifeless, visible signs of beating and torture endured before his death, that alone would have been enough to shock, enough to make him feel like a piece of him had been ripped out and thrown away, but that wasn't all, because Steve knew that he was responsible, that he was to blame for his friend's torture, for the bruising and the cuts, for his pain, for his death. It was down to him because he'd. . .because he hadn't. . . because of him his father was slumped here now, his blood and brain matter spread across the wall of the family home. If it hadn't been for him then he would still be alive, his father. . . No, a sick twist of the knife embedded metaphorically in his gut cut off the thought, physical pain from his churning insides matching the mental anguish; it tore at him and it was all he could do not to double over.

Not his father. . .

This was not his father this was Danny.

The confusion was real and frightening in the fleeting moments when he recognized it for what it was.

He'd stood here so many times, seen his father's body so many times, in nightmares, in daydreams, sleeping, waking, his imagination hadn't been fussy for timing. Not that it needed much imagination, he'd used a very small part of his immunity and means to get a look at the crime scene photos, most relatives would not be allowed, but Steve was not most relatives. Chin and Danny had tried to discourage it, but Steve wasn't easily discouraged. In the end Steve had felt that he had to, that he owed. . . Just like he had to now, here with Danny, he owed him, and he should. . .

His father and now his friend, his partner Steve had been tortured twice, lived through it twice, the sounds of both gunshots still echoing round his skull, the guilt of responsibility for both tearing at him from the inside.

Once had been too much, had almost broken him, had thrown him into a spiral of life changing decisions, but that had been for a man he barely knew, was tied to only by blood and memories, Danny he knew, or at least was getting to know in a more intimate way than he'd ever known any other human being, no lovers, no Seal team-mates, no-one had ever come as close to getting in as Danny had, getting behind the multi layers of self-protective defenses that Steve had thrown up. Danny, he was bound to by friendship, by partnership, by bonds formed in the intense extremes of life and death situations, in quiet moments of contemplation, and so here, now, it felt so much worse, more personal, more immediate, more painful, than the last time and the last time had almost been too much.

What had almost broken him once shattered him now.

Steve MacGarrett, the strongest man most people had ever met, stood in front of the body of his friend and fell apart.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .


	7. Chapter 7

Author's note:-OK just when life seems to be going well a large truck literally runs into you and ruins your day- week- month. Apologies for the delay in posting but a 28 tonne truck had an argument with my car, and as excuses go you've got to admit that's not a bad one. Anyway I hope you enjoy as ever let me know- J

Chapter 7

Danny's return to consciousness was as abrupt and unpleasant as he ever remembered.

It happened between one breath and the next, some part of his mind suddenly finding itself able to respond to the nightmare of his treatment triggering a cascade of reaction. He drew in a deep lungful of air, his heart-rate kicked up and muscles tensed jerking him upright in his seat. His eyes shot open as pain responses triggered all over his body and a moan accompanied the stuttering exhale as he blinked and tried to focus blurry vision.

He did his best to rationalize the unfocused fear, no terror that was the first thing that hit his conscious mind, blind grasping fear, just like any other time he had woken from a terrifying, torture filled nightmare.

Except he wasn't waking from, he was waking into a nightmare as terrifying and torture filled as any he'd ever dreamed, and the fact that the fear and the pain were real hit like a piece of two by four.

It was all too real and he drew in another painful sharp breath as his memory spooled through a cascade of images, no not just images, it was the full colour, 3-D surround-sound goddamn feel-o-vision movie of his ordeal, the full four hour directors cut beamed straight into his brain in less than a second. Every sight, every sound, every emotion, every excrutiating moment dumped into his mind in an overwhelming cacophony. So that he knew everything that had been done to him, to Steve, felt everything and it hurt, Oh God did it hurt.

It took everything he had to pull the world back into focus, to control his breathing before automated responses pushed him to the wrong side of panic. Calming his breathing he tried to concentrate on the here and now. Memory bad, present good, he could deal with this, He just had to. . .

He shifted his arms minutely the accompanying pain letting him know that he was still bound. Nothing had changed then, nothing. . . His eyes had closed while he pulled himself through the memories and the pain and he wasn't sure when they'd opened again, nor when he'd raised them to see. . .

"Hey Danny," Steve said.

Danny blinked as his brain tried to process Steve's was sitting against the wall his knees drawn up, one arm resting across them, the other hanging limply down to the side.

"Hey," Danny's response was automatic and he made it even though his brain was scrambling and emotions were tumbling over each other in an effort to keep up.

First there was relief, overwhelming, melt at the knees, hug and shout relief, because Steve was there and Steve was alive and given the psychotic nature of their assailant, that wasn't a given.

Secondly surprise, because 'what the Hell?' Steve was there and from the looks of it for more than a few seconds and he Danny, was still tied to a chair and moreover Steve had made no attempt to wake him or help with his injuries, wasn't moving even now to assist, and there was a Hell of a lot wrong with that picture.

Thirdly concern because Danny had some idea of what his partner had been put through and Steve looked pale and his skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and, for all the named faces that Danny had for Steve he had never seen anything like the frightened, lost, despairing look that graced his partner's features at that moment and, if all that wasn't enough to worry him, and it was more than enough, there was something that looked suspiciously like blood pooling under the arm that was hanging down by Steve's side.

Fourth anger because none of this should be happening, not to him and certainly not to his partner. Danny was damn sure that whatever grudge this psychotic bastard had against Steve it was not of his partner's making and, even if it were, this type of psychological torture was the exact reason why the phrase 'cruel and unusual punishment' had been written into the constitution. No one should be made to suffer like Steve had and certainly not a good man like Steve, and Danny just wanted to rip the head off the man who had put that expression on Steve's face.

Finally fear because for all it looked like the ordeal for both of them should be over, bad guys gone, good guys together- cavalry, medics and good drugs all arriving in quick succesion to make it the happy ever after, everyone's safe end of the show moment. Danny was very much afraid this was only the beginning.

The emotions and thoughts flashed round between one moment and the next and would have been difficult enough to deal with on their own but every part of Danny was pretty much overwhelmed already, so this new assault just ratched up the headache and blurred everything, he blinked, took a breath and tried to figure out what to say, what to do next. He met Steve's gaze realising that his partner had been watching him, but still made no effort to come to his aid. He opened his mouth to speak, still not sure what he was going to say, but Steve beat him to it.

"I. . I'm sorry Danny," Steve said, tears clearly welling in his eyes, but they did not fall, just hung, glinting softly, Steve's head bobbed down and he let out a short mirthless laugh. "You remember that first day when you told me that a man should apologise when he gets his partner shot?" He looked up again and there was a flash of anger in his eyes. "Well I am sorry Danny, so Damn Sorry but it won't. . . It doesn''t. . . Dammit it's not enough." He stared Danny in the eye."If you say sorry when you get someone shot then what the Hell do you say to them when you get them killed?"

Steve paused, the anger melting away, the half formed tears reforming and still stubbornly refusing to fall. "How the Hell do I apologise to you for getting you killed?"

Shit!

Danny, the person who always had something to say was suddenly lost for words, because seriously, what did you say to someone who thought they were talking to your corpse?

What did you say to a partner who despite the evidence of his eyes just wasn't taking in the more obvious clues to your not being dead, like the fact you were breathing and moving and. . .?

For a moment rational thought deserted Danny as he gave credence to his partner's apparent belief that he was dead, it wasn't just in Steve's words it was in his eyes, in his body language in his slow deliberate movements every part of him screamed grief and resignation and Damn! What if it was Steve that was right and he was dead, and a ghost like in those movies when. ..? and what if. . .? Danny's heart-rate notched up again and he could feel the quickening thudding beat which surely a ghost wouldn't. . .The moment of doubt passed as he looked back at his partner. No he wasn't dead, but for some reason Steve wasn't seeing that and that was damn scary in itself

"You don't need to apologise Steve," Danny stated, his voice sounding stronger than he expected. "I didn't get shot, he didn't. . ." Danny stopped mid sentence, there was just something so lost, so hopeless, so utterly devoid of. . .Dammit no!

"I'm sorry Danny, so, so sorry." Steve whispered, his head dropping back to rest against the wall, but his eyes never losing Danny's. It was too much, too hard. Steve knew that he was losing his grip on reality because Danny was dead and Danny was looking at him and talking to him, but he couldn't be because he was dead. No matter how much Steve wanted it not to be true; he had heard the shot, could see the blood splattered across the wall, just like his father, just like. . .and now the tears did fall. "sorrysorrysorrysorry," Steve lips moved as he barely whispered the repeated apology in the hope that his dead friend would forgive him.

Danny moved automatically desperate to get to and comfort his suffering friend, to convince him that he was wrong, to pull him back from what looked like a full blown breakdown, but the shift only pulled sharp metal edges against abraded wrists and shuffled his chair forward a quarter inch, muscles rippling and igniting pain, but all Danny could think of was getting to his friend. "Steve!"

TO BE CONTINUED. .


	8. Chapter 8

Author's note: Used to think people who made injury claims for whiplash were opportunists- now I think we don't pay them enough! Four weeks of headache and back pain is no fun! At least writing keeps me sane even if it is a little slower than I'd like. Thanks so much for your continued interest and support every review is greatly appreciated and encourages me to write more- J

Chapter 8

Steve wasn't really there any more; any part of his conscious mind that tried to surface was instantly overwhelmed by sorrow and pain and guilt. The higher functioning, more rational parts of his brain disconnected, retreated, leaving behind only an echo as he sat, head leaning back, lips repeating his apology to Danny, to his dad, to the rest of the world, repeating the last action before the disconnect because it was all he could do.

Danny managed to pull himself back from the edge of panic for a second time but it wasn't easy, the sight of his suffering partner coupled with his own pain and helplessness was nearly too much, but there was at least some part of him that realised that, ironically, of the two of them he was in the better shape, at least as far as doing something about their situation went, because they both needed help and soon. Danny didn't mind admitting that he needed medical attention – now! and some of the stronger pain meds, the ones that left you floating- yeah that's what he needed, not to mention some highly qualified medical professionals to check him over, make sure there was no permanent damage, and Steve. . .God Steve, he damn well needed putting back together. So it was down to him.

Danny started shifting his position in his chair so that he could get a better look at what he was cuffed to and as he did so he began to do one of the things that Daniel Williams did best - talk. "So I hope you realise just how screwed up this really is? I mean in this situation I should definately be playing the role of rescuee right? Because seriously I am the one who is handcuffed to a chair and you see you," Danny turned his gaze back to his partner and swallowed, cursing silently to himself, damn it was just too hard seeing Steve like this. He vowed not to look at him again until he was in a position where he could help him. He twisted in his chair, ignoring the protests of bruised and abused muscles as he picked up his commentary as though he had not stopped. "You - no handcuffs, no ropes strapping you to a chair. So in my book the guy who is not tied up, the guy who hasn't been beaten and tortured by the psychotic criminals, he, and in case you hadn't realised it, in this particular situation that is you," The cuff around his right wrist was only hooked around the leg of the chair so only Danny's own weight on the chair leg was preventing him from freeing it. If he could just . . . "he. . .that is you. . now see what you've done you've got me confusing pronouns. So let me be clear. You, Lieutenant Commander Stephen McGarrett should be the rescuer and I Detective Danny Williams should definitely be the rescuee because. . ."

"Danny?"

Danny's head snapped back around to look at Steve barely daring to hope.

"Steve?" the question was cautious, hesitant, because there was the chance Steve was still lost wherever he was lost and had just switched to using Danny's name instead of the repeated apology, but no, Steve's gaze held intelligence and recognition replacing the lost emptiness that had scared the Hell out of Danny only moments before. Steve was back with him but that was only part of the battle because Steve was also scared and confused.

"Danny what . . .?" Steve tried hard to take in everything he was seeing, but it was hard because there were no memories connecting to give him context. His eyes scanned enough of the room to know that he was at home and there was blood and violence and Danny . . God Danny, tied to a chair, beaten, bloody. It was at that point that instinct and training kicked in because no memory meant no idea of threat and Steve shifted, raising his gun and using it to sweep the room.

Danny watched as Steve reacted his muscles tensing, his whole demeanor shifting as he went into 'deal-with-potential-threat' mode. "Hey Steve it's Okay, just you and me here the bad guys're long gone. We're safe." Danny kept his tone calm, reassuring, the last thing he needed to do was spook his only just back with him, already jittery partner, but Steve was pushing himself to his feet using the wall, eyes and gun still scanning for potential threat. "Steve, look at me." Danny commanded. There was no response so Danny licked dry lips, took as deep abreath as bruised and cracked ribs would allow and made it an order"Steve, Look at me."

Steve's gaze locked back to his friend and Danny could now clearly see the fear, the uncertainty. It would have been disconcerting from anyone, but from Steve it was downright unnerving, because Steve didn't show fear Hell sometimes Danny was convinced his lack of fear made him insane, but over time Danny had realised that Steve felt it, he just didn't show it, so to see it so raw, so unguarded now . .

Danny swallowed again, met Steve's gaze with the most reassuring look he could manage, his partner was with him but not fully. His gun was still ready, pointed at an invisible threat. Damn Danny needed him to. . . "Stand down Commander the threat is over," He waited a moment and then repeated, more sharply, "stand down Commander." Military speak worked, even in his confused state Steve's training kicked in and he lowered his weapon.

Steve stared at him for amoment still trying to make sense of something, anything . "Danny what . . .?" He repeated his earlier confused question.

Danny knew what Steve was asking, he wanted to know what had happened what they were doing here, but Danny also knew that any attempt to talk about any of it at this point would be the undoing of both of them. He was barely hanging on himself and with Steve already over the edge there was no way . . ."How about we concentrate on getting out of here?" He suggested. "I could use a little help."

Steve looked at his friend and one glance was enough to have him scrambling forward, enough of his brain now functioning to recognise just how badly Danny needed him. He dropped to his knees next to his partner hands hovering as he searched for somewhere he could touch his friend that wouldn't cause him further pain "Shit Danny ! What did they do to you?"

'What did they do to you?' Now wasn't that a loaded question? A part of Danny wanted to give Steve the answer wanted to talk about the pain and the fear, wanted to tell him about the torture and how hard he'd tried to fight. How he'd tried to hold back the screams. How he didn't want to be part of Steve's own personal hell. A part of Danny wanted a cathartic unload of everything he'd been through in the past few hours and he wanted to tell it to his friend, his partner, the man who wouldn't judge him for it, the man who would understand when he'd weighed up the pros and cons of refusing to cooperate and letting Steve hear them torture him to death, or cooperating to buy a little more time for the miracle that never came. Steve would get it, and Danny could tell him, and everything would be. . . "Help me get out of these cuffs?" He asked, shifting his wrists a little and trying not to wince.

Steve nodded, his hands searching his pockets for his keys as he shifted position so that he could get a better angle on the cuffs, hopefully releasing them without causing any further damage to Danny's shredded wrists. "Ok he said as he moved in with the key, I'm going to do this as carefully as I can." He looked up to meet Danny's gaze. "Are you ready?"

Danny nodded and drew in a breath, what was a little more pain? And then his senses whited out and he wasn't sure but he may have let out a cry and an expletive or two, but the pain. . .Damn he couldn't take any more. . .he couldn't. . .

"Danny?" His name.

"Danny?" His name, again, repeated with concern by. . .he opened his eyes. Steve was hovering worriedly in front of him. "Danny you back with me?"

"Yeah," Danny looking down, both of his wrists were free and were resting in his lap. Steve's eyes followed his gaze,

"We need to get some dressings on those," he stated softly. "Sorry I had to hurt you to get you free!"

Danny looked up again. "Hey don't go giving me unsolicited apologies. It'll throw out my world view," besides I don't ever want to hear the word sorry from you again. Danny barely stopped himself from adding the last part. Steve broken and in pain still too fresh, but he was trying to lighten the mood, keep Steve with him not. . .

Steve gave a bare shadow of a smile. "I need to get you an ambulance," he said.

"Don't you mean both of us?" Danny asked, at Steve's quizzical expression he added, "you do know you're bleeding right?"

Steve looked blankly at him. "Bleeding?"

Danny gave a nod in the direction of Steve's left arm. "Your arm."

Steve looked at his own arm and was surprised to see a field dressing soaked in blood, a steady trickle of fresh blood still rolling down towards his fingers. "I. . ." he started, clearly he'd known about it at some point because he recognized his own handiwork, but he couldn't feel it, why didn't it hurt, why. . . "I don't remember. . .I. . ."

"OK, OK," Danny interrupted worriedly, damn this was going to be a tightrope. "An ambulance sounds like a really good idea about now." His partner was still staring at his arm. He couldn't afford to lose him again. "Steve," Steve turned back to look at him. "Ambulance," he prompted.

Steve seemed to snap himself back. "I'll find a phone, see if I can get a knife to cut the rest of those ropes, the knots are too tight to untie."

Danny breathed a sigh of relief. "Good, I'll. . .I'll just sit here."

Steve managed another small smile at Danny's attempt at humour before he moved. He was back at Danny's side in less than a minute but to Danny it seemed like much, much longer. He used a sharp knife to slice through the ropes around Danny's chest and ankles, doing his best to hold the rope away from Danny's skin to prevent any further abrasion. "They've disabled my phone line and I don't have my cell. I need to go over to my neighbours' use theirs to call this in. Will you be all right while I'm gone?"

"I should come with you," Danny said.

"You think you can stand?" Steve asked

Danny made a weak effort, "Give me a hand," he said raising one arm to invite support.

Steve moved into position putting his shoulder under Danny's; Danny's arm around his neck, but he didn't take hold of it because it would pull on Danny's wrist. "Ok on three, one, two. ." Steve lifted Danny as he said the word three. At first he could feel some effort from his partner but it didn't last long enough for Danny's legs to lock out. As Danny got to vertical he sagged back down and suddenly Steve had all of his weight, holding him up by the arm over his shoulder and his belt. Steve leant sideways at an awkward angle to rest some of Danny's weight onto his side, then half carried half dragged his partner to the couch, lowering him onto it and confirming that Danny was out cold. No amount of shouting his name roused him this time. Damn. "I'll be back as soon as I can," Steve stated patting Danny on the arm.

Steve turned to leave and the blood splattered wall hit him like a slap in the face, thoughts memories, emotions almost taking him again, but there was that nagging sense of duty again. Danny needed help; he had to get Danny. . . He was moving again, focusing only on what he had to do, nothing else mattered.

The quickest route to his neighbours' house was through the back onto the beach, through the trees into. . .

Steve would never know what the loud noise was, a car backfiring? A hunter's rifle up in the cliffs echoing round the bay? A firework celebrating a beach wedding, the only thing that mattered was that it was a loud bang and that it sounded like a gunshot and that was enough in Steve's fragile state, the blocked memories shot through his consciousness like a freight train and Steve was overwhelmed with emotions, sights and sounds, real and imagined, past and present, his father, Danny, a hundred combat situations, Danny! "No!". It was too much; Steve's hands covered his face as he dropped to the ground, and then his head was buried in his knees, his arms wrapped tightly around his legs to hold him together as small as possible as he rocked backwards and forwards. "no, no, no, no, no," his new mantra.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .


	9. Chapter 9

Author's note:- apologies to those of you who thought I'd abandoned this, just another case of real life dumping on my muse. Anyway I hope you like the update- this is for those of you who have wondered where Chin and Kono are- As ever I am grateful to anyone who takes the time to let me know what they think- you keep me going:- J

**Chapter 9**

Chin's first view of the burning wreckage of the convoy had been from the chopper that flew them in. He'd known at that point that it meant something. That what he was seeing should remind him of something but he had always been a cop; didn't have the military frame of reference, and although curiosity had led him to read the reports about what had happened to Steve when his father, Chin's former partner had been killed, a huge chunk of it had been redacted by the navy. So details of the convoy Steve was a part of had been sparse, photographs removed. Even so if he hadn't been up all night with Steve and Kono hunting for clues to help them find Danny, if he hadn't been so worried about Steve, about their last contact where Steve had indicated that Danny was . . .

If the normally unshakable Chin hadn't been so shaken then he might have put it together more quickly, because the moment Chin realised what he was looking at he knew where both Steve and Danny were.

Together with the tactical unit which had flown in with them on the chopper, they had quickly cleared the area, making sure that there was no further danger before beginning to check the bodies and the wreckage. It had been an almost impossible 15 minutes for the two cousins before they could establish that neither Steve nor Danny were amongst the casualties, the dead, that could be clearly seen from a distance, nor were they hidden somewhere else amongst the still smouldering remains of military vehicles. It was a huge relief but it also left continuing uncertainty about the fate of their friends and it was causing an anxiety that they were both struggling to deal with.

Half an hour later and they still had nothing. Crime scene techs had arrived on scene and were beginning to photograph and collect evidence . Max was also making his examinations of the bodies so they could be moved. Chin had spent his time looking for anything that would give him a clue as to what his boss had been doing or where he was now, and finally he had something. He crouched down pulling his gloves on as he did so. He sensed more than heard Kono moving up behind him. "Steve's," he said by way of explanation as he picked the cell phone up and pushed himself back to standing. "Looks like he dropped it," he added not above stating the obvious, except it wasn't obvious, or at least it shouldn't have been because when Steve had dropped it, the fight had been over. There was no indication on the soft ground of anything other than one set of footprints, distanced for a man walking slowly. Chin looked ahead and back; no indication of a change of pace, no fall, no struggle, no fight. He hit the buttons that let him check the call log. Steve had been talking to him, the call in progress when he'd dropped it. Had he just let it go?

"Is that blood?" Kono asked and Chin looked up to meet her concerned gaze, before looking back down at the phone, seeing for the first time the rust brown stains that were blotched all over the surface of the small device, so obvious now that he found it difficult to comprehend how he could have accessed anything on the small screen without so much as noticing the blood. Was it because of a laser sharp focus on what he needed to know, or had he just not wanted to see it? "Yes ," he said quietly.

"Is it Steve's?" Kono asked even though she knew that the question was redundant, her cousin had no way of telling, but she needed to give voice to her fear.

Chin met her gaze again. "I don't know," he admitted, and still he couldn't stop his mind from giving him the odds that someone else's blood would be on Steve's cell "but probably." He couldn't and wouldn't sugar coat it. Kono would deal with it just as he would. He just hoped that it wasn't as bad as it looked.

Kono bit her top lip and pushed back the emotion that was currently too close to the surface. If Chin could keep it reined in then so could she. They had to stay focused at least until they found their teammates. She looked round again. "What do you think happened here?" she asked, trying hard to put the pieces together. None of it was making any sense, nothing had since they'd realised Danny was really missing, had been taken, almost 20 hours earlier. That had begun an uncomfortable churning in her gut that hadn't abated since and now that Steve had gone too . . .She really didn't want to think about it, but she knew she had to because now it was down to her and Chin to solve this, to get their teammates,their friends, back.

"Some sort of fight." Chin replied. There he went stating the obvious again, but at the moment obvious was all they had and sometimes just talking it through . . .. "It looks like the four we found were the attackers." His eyes scanned the wreckage, "and there was some fairly heavy ordnance used to take out the jeeps ."

"It doesn't make any sense," Kono said, verbalising her frustration. She followed her cousin's gaze. "This is clearly a military convoy and yet there's no sign of any military personnel, and none of the bases on the island admit to having anything in this area . I've even been through the govenor 's office and . . ." It was at that point she realised Chin was staring at her. "What?" she asked turning her focus back to him, a little bewildered by the intense stare that seemed to go right through her. She started retracing her way back through what she'd said, there was clearly something that had caught Chin's attention but . .

"Military convoy," Chin supplied the answer to her half formed question. "Of course. Why didn't I see it . . ."

Chin couldn't believe that he hadn't put things together sooner. It was so obvious now. Everything was . . .

Chin's mind was racing. There were so many question's that came with this particular epiphany. Who? How ? Why would . . .? but Chin didn't have time for any of it because the connections he was concentrating on were the ones that led him to a simple conclusion. He turned to look his cousin square in the eye. "I know where Steve and Danny are," he stated with conviction.

It should have been a statement that brought relief, even some measure of comfort, to finally know the location of his colleagues, his friends but all it brought was a memory and a stab of pain, because he'd just realised what the scene before him meant. It meant pain and death, loss and regret.

Like Steve just the memory of that day was enough to bring pain, not as strong as Steve's Chin'd been more detached in space and time, but there nonetheless. Jack McGarrett had been a good partner, a good friend and so he'd felt the loss, felt it again now.

He stared at the wreckage but saw nothing. The stab of pain bit more deeply, jabbed itself into his gut and twisted, because this time it was close, too close, this time he had lost . . . Here and now it was no longer just a memory it was a whole other reality where he had lost at least one, maybe he had lost two men that had somehow, in the short time he had known them, become as close to him as family, and he didn't want to face . . . because he now knew that they were almost certainly heading to Steve 's house to find Danny's corpse and Steve . . .?

Shit! If Chin was feeling this much pain then how the Hell had Steve even . . .

He realised that Kono was staring at him, that he was tearing up, that if he didn't move and move now, if he kept thinking and remembering and . .

He focused on Kono's concerned gaze. "We need to go," he stated, silently begging that she wouldn't ask him any questions because answering them could be enough to paralyse him.

To Kono's credit she said nothing, just fell into step beside him as he moved. It was one of the many reasons he loved working with his rookie cousin, she knew when to ask questions and she knew when to just do.

Chin took one last look at the burning wreckage as he climbed into a hastily comandered truck and said a silent prayer that Steve could hold on because his team were coming for him.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .


	10. Chapter 10

Author's note:- Still being plagued by health problems and anything else life can throw at me- I'm grateful to anyone who's hanging in there with me it gives me the impetous to get things finished even if it takes more time than it should- Let me know what you think- J

**Chapter 10**

Danny's second return to consciousness was less violent but just as disturbing as his first. His conscious mind resurfaced part way through a reliving of the torture of the last few hours. Mumbled, half formed pleas for it to stop that he hadn't uttered at the time because he wouldn't give his torturer the satisfaction, now escaped from dry lips as he struggled listlessly against invisible bonds. He had no strength left either mentally or physically to fight and he might have just drifted back under, but like Steve earlier there was an intangible something that forced his mind to fight. There was something that he needed to do, someone that he needed to help and the fact that he wasn't yet aware enough to know who or what, didn't reduce the strength of the sensation. So he fought his way through the mire of terrible memories, of unpleasant sensation, of pain and blinked open eyes to blurry vision, everything tumbling back into some semblance of order as reality settled around him, every bit as awful as the nightmare that gave way to it.

He knew that he was alone, no help yet, no good drugs to dull the many different manifestations of pain that screamed at his brain for attention, which meant that Steve hadn't managed to get them any help yet. So how long had it been? How long had he been out for? Where was Steve? Why hadn't he come back yet?

These were questions that Danny had no way of answering and yet the answers were monumentally important. If it had only been moments since Steve had left then there was no need for the growing anxiety, the fear for his friend that was twisting uncomfortably in his gut, and that was all he needed, another source of pain. Still if all was well, relatively speaking, then all he had to do was wait and Steve would be back with help and everything would be fine.

No, not fine, because Steve was so far from fine that he couldn't even put it into words, the uncomfortable churning in his gut wasn't just because something else could happen; it was for what had already happened. That look on Steve's face, his eyes . . . He was. . . .

It suddenly didn't matter to Danny how long his partner had been out of his sight, because every second was a second too long. Every second there was a chance that Steve would lose his grip on reality again, would go back to that place he had been the last time Danny had surfaced to consciousness, a place that they may not be able to get him back from, and that scared Danny more than his own impending death had. Losing his life he could handle, had accepted long ago as a risk that came with the job, but there were things worse than death and watching Steve lose his mind would be one of them.

So Danny had to stop that happening, had to do something to mitigate the mental torture that he had, however unwillingly, been a part of. He didn't know how yet. He just knew that he had to do it. His own pain be damned, because he knew it had to be him.

Danny had a nagging certainty that what had been done to Steve, that what he had helped to do to Steve. . . dammit he had been a pivotal part of the effect it had had on his friend. He knew that with certainty because he knew how he would react if the situations were reversed if Steve had been kidnapped, missing, tortured, if he'd thought Steve had been killed. He was fairly sure he would be close to losing it and that was without the trauma of losing his father, of being dragged back to that day of repeating. . . Steve needed him, needed to know that Danny hadn't died. Steve needed. . .

Danny used the strong emotion to motivate movement, because really all he wanted to do was lie very still and drift back into pain free oblivion. He tried to take it slowly, but each minute movement was so painful that in the end he decided to go for the sitting up equivalent of ripping a plaster off, swinging his legs round onto the floor and using the momentum to pull his upper body up, and then he waited, waited for the room to stop spinning, for the stabbing, screaming pains to settle back to a point where his brain could form coherent thought, and for the nausea to stop threatening to make him heave up the nonexistent contents of his stomach. For once he was grateful that his captors hadn't thought to feed him or give him water in the time that they had held him.

Finally he opened eyes that he hadn't realized he'd closed and drew in a cautious deep breath. So far so good, he was now sitting instead of lying on Steve's couch. Yay for small victories! Now all he had to do was get to his feet, a task that last time he'd tried, even with Steve's help, had caused him to pass out. Then make his way out of the house, find Steve, talk his partner and friend out of a nervous breakdown that he was already well into the middle of and get them both to a hospital because Steve was bleeding and he was. . . Danny would have laughed except that would hurt too much because the only other option was to cry and there was no way that he. . .

He had to get to his feet, moving his hand protectively across his stomach he began to inch his way to the edge of the seat. That was when he heard the noise. It was at the front door and it was enough to put him on high alert, adrenaline flooding his overtaxed system as he followed his instincts and looked for a weapon to protect himself, because this could be help. But really with the luck he'd been having in the last twenty four hours it could equally be another threat. His eyes were drawn to the gun that Steve had put down on the ground when he'd knelt next to him, which meant it was back by the chair that Danny had been tied to, a scant six feet away but the state Danny was in it might as well have been a mile. Still there was no way Danny was going down without some sort of fight.

He pushed to his feet and moved across the room one arm remaining protectively across his middle the other almost touching the floor because he didn't even try to straighten up, his movement wasn't elegant or smooth but it had the desired effect of getting him to the weapon. He dropped back against the wall still not fully standing and raised the gun just as the door was pushed open. There was a tense moment as Danny almost responded automatically to the drawn weapon which was the first thing that registered; his finger tightening on the trigger as the rest of his mind caught up ."Chin," the name was uttered with relief but it still took a moment for him to gain enough control to lower the weapon.

Chin's own expression was at war between relief, shock and concern and he took his own moment to compose himself before dropping and holstering his weapon and moving toward the barely standing bloody mess that was his teammate. "Danny, what . . .?"

He didn't have time to finish the question before another noise drew Danny's attention. Chin watched as Danny reacted with more fear than he'd ever seen from the younger man, raising his weapon and aiming it at the doors to the lanai. His gun was leveled at Kono as she entered and again it took him way too long to register that it was friend not foe, fear and pain not fully retreating from his features even as he recognized her.

She did a quick but graceful sweep of the room and then lowered her own weapon as she turned and saw them. A shocked "Danny," escaped from her lips, somewhere between a question and a gasp as she took in his appearance and moved quickly to join Chin at his side.

Chin barely glanced at her, catching her eye just long enough for an exchange of pained concern before focusing back on Danny. He reached forward and gently removed the gun from Danny's shaky grip. "Why don't I take that," he said softly and Danny turned his eyes to stare into his, giving a slight nod as the weapon was removed. He didn't need it. He was safe now the rest of the team were here- safe. He could let them. . . He felt himself slowly beginning to slide down the wall as the adrenaline that had allowed him to move at all ebbed, soft pressure from hands that gripped his arms and shoulders helped to control his descent until he was sitting.

Chin and Kono did their best to help Danny supporting him until he was seated against the wall, both of them doing their own visual assessment of his injuries. Worried by the cut on his temple and the blood matted in his hair, the already black and purple bruising on his torso that could be clearly seen through his ripped shirt, the evidence of cuts and burns, the weakness, the shaking, the dazed expression, all spoke of trauma and pain and would be difficult enough to see on a stranger but this was Danny, one of them, their friend. This shouldn't happen to anyone but most of all things like this shouldn't happen to Danny. It was hard to focus on anything but cataloguing his injuries.

"Danny," Chin's voice was still soft and he was proud that he managed to speak at all without his voice wavering. "Can you tell us what happened?" When there was no immediate response he tried again with "Danny?"

Danny seemed to give himself a small shake, before making eye contact, the world was drifting in and out again as a part of him stopped fighting because he didn't need to any more; because Chin and Kono were here and that meant help so he didn't need. . . His brow furrowed in a small frown. No there was Something. . .Someone. . . He had to. . .

Kono leaned back a little allowing Chin to take the lead in caring for Danny, in assessing just how serious things were. She pulled out her cell ready to call for help, they needed paramedics, HPD to secure the scene and. . .

"Steve?" Danny asked

Kono stopped mid-action, Chin was already watching Danny closely.

"Where is Steve?" Danny asked plaintively.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .


	11. Chapter 11

Author's note:-Real life is a pain when all you really want to do is write but you either don't have the time or when you do don't have the energy. You've probably forgotten all about this story but I am going to finish it and I hope that at least some of you enjoy it. Let me know.J

**Chapter 11**

Chin and Kono exchanged a significant look, the fact that they didn't know bothered both of them but they knew it would concern Danny even more; he took his de facto position as Steve's partner very seriously.

"We don't know," Chin admitted, "We haven't seen or heard from him in the last couple of hours" his gaze had returned to Danny who was staring back at him.

"He didn't call you?" Danny questioned as he shifted himself to a more upright position. He was finding it far easier to ignore his pain then his two friends, but ignoring it and hiding it weren't the same thing and he failed to cover the wince and slight groan that accompanied the movement.

"Danny!" Kono's concern would have been evident in her expression, in the way she moved to help, even if the intonation of his name hadn't screamed it. She wanted him to stay still to stop causing himself more pain, to wait for the paramedics, which. . . dammit she hadn't even started to call yet. "Danny, just keep. . ."

But Danny was too focussed on processing the fact that Steve hadn't contacted Chin or Kono, which meant he hadn't made it to. . . So back to the question. Where. . ?

"No, he didn't. . ." Chin began to answer Danny's question until the unusual phrasing processed, 'didn't call' as though Danny was expecting that, not for them to have seen him but. . . "Wait, Steve was here?"

"He untied me and went for help," Danny confirmed, "We need to find him, he was injured, and. . .he wasn't. . .he" He struggled to find the words to describe what was wrong. . .what he thought was wrong. . .what he had seen, How the Hell did he tell anyone that Steve was at, no past, breaking point, that he was . .

"Danny?" It was Chin who used his name this time and now it acted to pull him back from wherever his focus was drifting and as a question.

"He's. . ." Danny began. His eyes clearly welling with tears as he met Chin's gaze. "Whoever did this was screwing with his head. . .they. . ."

Chin put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We know, they recreated the convoy from the day his father was killed."

"The Convoy," Danny repeated automatically as his brain tried to add this new piece of information to the already sickening catalogue of experiences that his friend had been forced to relive. His fists clenched, stretching the skin white over his knuckles. He met Chin's gaze once more and shook his head, "More than that," Danny stated, "They made me. . .I had to. . ."

"It's OK Danny you don't need to . . ." .Kono offered, comfortingly.

"I do," Danny interrupted sharply, because he knew that he did have to explain, because it was important that Chin and Kono understood everything that had been done to Steve, understood his part in this, because the mental torture was worsened by the fact that he, Danny, had been complicit, had helped to. . and he couldn't. . . Dammit he had to get his emotions under control and get this out so they could get on with the important task of finding and helping Steve, not to mention capturing the bastards that had done this to him, to them, because this had the potential to destroy Steve and rip their team apart.

Danny visibly forced his emotions under control, clamping down on everything in a way that he should be getting used to because it was a skill that had been tested numerous times in the last few hours. He'd deal with the inevitable fall out later, for now he needed control. "Because they made me read from a script, tortured me when I didn't," his voice remained steady, if he'd had the capacity to notice he might have even been impressed with himself, that or worried about the seeming lack of emotion. "I don't know how they did it but I'm fairly sure they made Steve repeat the entire conversation that he had with his father, only using me and. . ."

Danny had never heard either of the cousins swear, not even when Chin had an explosive necklace strapped on him ready to literally blow his head off, but even though they spoke in native Hawaiian he was fairly sure the words they now muttered would be ones he wouldn't want translated in front of Grace

Danny forced himself to continue, they needed to hear it all, despite their reaction because they couldn't help Steve properly if they didn't know, what they had done, what he had done. "They fired a shot before hanging up then threw blood on me and knocked me out. So it would look like they'd. . . So Steve would think. . ."

Kono's skin had run cold and she had to swallow down the nausea. "They made him think you died in exactly the same way as his father." The words were almost whispered

Danny gave another small nod. He swallowed, "When I came round Steve was here. He saw. . .He thought. . . He was confused, having flashbacks and. . ." Danny took a deep breath and looked from Chin to Kono and back again. "We have to find him," he paused for a beat. "just us. He wouldn't want. . ."

Danny didn't need to say any more Kono and Chin nodded their understanding. If Steve was suffering he wouldn't want anyone to see it, but better his ohana than some nameless HPD officers who didn't know him. Not to mention the fact that a sane healthy Steve was a dangerous man; Steve McGarrett with his sanity compromised in any way just didn't bear thinking about.

"Okay Bro," Chin once again shared a look with his cousin "Kono and I will find him, you. . ."

"No, I have to . . ."Danny tried to push himself up but it took a laughable amount of effort to stay his movement, at least it would have been laughable in circumstances where their friend hadn't been beaten and tortured.

"Danny," Kono spoke softly, her hand resting lightly on Danny's arm. "We've got this." The 'you'll only slow us down' wasn't added anywhere other than in the gaze that calmly and empathically met his. "You stay here and we'll let you know as soon as we have him."

Frustration, anger and sheer damn stubbornness warred on Danny's features for a few seconds before he let out a small sigh and visibly sagged back into the wall. "You find him," he stated firmly, meeting each of the cousins eyes with a steely gaze that should have been beyond him in his bruised and battered state.

"We will," Kono promised,

H50H50

Kono and Chin moved in tandem across the lanai and out into the trees that separated Steve's house from his nearest neighbour, guns drawn held forward and slightly down, ready for any threat. They did not need to speak to coordinate their movements. They barely needed to use gestures because they instinctively knew which way Steve would go in his search for help. It would be the same way they would go, off the deck, cut through the treeline and round onto. . .

They spotted Steve at the same moment and both stopped dead in their tracks, lowering their weapons in what looked like the last of a carefully choreographed sequence, even their expressions matched, horrified, fascinated, disbelieving. It took several moments to take it in, several moments for the spell to break

Steve was sitting with his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped around them holding them tightly to his chest rocking slowly backwards and forwards, his head was down, a mixture of blood and sand stuck to a tattered dressing that was hanging half -tied from one arm, smoke and sweat, sand and dirt matted down his hair and covered his torn clothing. He looked like a refugee from a war zone and although that in itself wasn't unusual for Steve McGarrett, he normally looked like the conquering hero of said scenario, not the traumatised victim, and everything about him now screamed victim in a way that made you want to weep on his behalf.

Kono moved first she took cautious steps towards Steve, biting the inside of her lip in an effort to hold in the tears. She moved slowly, not wanting to spook the commander because there were so many ways that this situation could become even worse, and it was beyond bad already. Chin moved behind her as they had agreed in another of their non-existent conversations about what to do. If they had talked about it Chin would have sent his cousin ahead, not because of any crap about women having more empathy, but because if the commander reacted in a violent way to being approached Kono had the faster reflexes to get herself out of the situation.

If Steve noticed her approach he gave no sign of it. She got within a couple of feet before dropping down to a walking crouch so that as she moved closer her eyes were on a level with his but he did not look at her, showed no sign that he even knew she was there. He just continued to stare forward, the gentle rocking movement constant, rhythmic unchanged, and it almost broke Kono's heart to see him like this. He was screaming 'broken' with every repetitive movement, with that fixed faraway haunted gaze that did not shift as it should, no acknowledgement, no recognition. He was trapped somewhere and she didn't know what to do, didn't know how to help. How could she. . they. . .How. . . the urge to stand and run away herself was almost overwhelming because she could feel the pain emanating from the man in front of her, it enveloped her, closed in around her. He was suffering right here, right now and the closer she got the stronger the feeling was until she was almost suffocating in his pain, his loss, his despair, but she had to help him, there had to be a way to . .

She stopped close enough to touch but with a little space still between them. "Steve," she said, barely keeping the hitch out of her voice. She mentally chided herself for the show of weakness and tried again a little stronger this time. "Steve, it's Kono, Chin, we're here to help."

There was no response, Kono turned and looked uncertainly at her cousin, he was older, wiser, maybe he. . .but she saw the same uncertainty reflected back at her. He gave her a gesture of encouragement to try again because what else could they do but try?

"Steve," she said again a little louder this time, no response. "Steve, please, just look at me; let me know that you can hear me." With the plea came a touch, she rested her hand gently on his uninjured arm. She had to fight the desire to tense, to be ready to pull back, because in this state there was no knowing how Steve would react, if he would view her as a threat, but she also knew that tensing was entirely the wrong way to get through to him. She drew in a deep breath and forced herself to calm as she felt the slight tremors running through Steve's muscles.

At first he didn't seem to notice the touch and Kono was about to speak again and then Steve's head moved, his gaze dropping to look at his arm, to look at her hand resting on it, following her arm up slowly, elbow, upper arm, shoulder, neck, chin, lips, eyes, as though he were studying each part of her like something he didn't recognise, something he had never seen before. When he finally met her gaze it was all she could do not to let out an audible gasp. Her mind would have struggled to find words to describe the look that now met hers, empty, broken, pained, agonised were the best she could manage but they were inadequate descriptions, because Steve McGarrett, in that moment showed depths of emotion that she had never seen expressed before, because those with any semblance of functioning control would hide such deep emotion from the world. Even in dark despair people would not let another see into their soul, they would hide their despair in hands, in tissues, in handkerchiefs, in the shoulders of friends and loved ones. They would not stare unblinkingly at another and bare their pain to the world as Steve did now and Kono felt her heart breaking with his. She swallowed, "Steve?" she questioned cautiously

"He's dead," Steve whispered, his voice so quiet that she almost missed it, and then his gaze moved back to some point ahead of him and the rocking that had briefly stopped started again as Steve continued to whisper "He's dead. . .I. . .they . . . . killed. . .I . . ."

Kono looked up at her cousin again, unable to stop the tears now. She was hoping that he would be able to tell her what to do now but he just looked back at her with sorrow. What the Hell were they supposed to do to fix this?

TO BE CONTINUED. . . .


	12. Chapter 12

Author's note: Sorry I never mean to take so long to update but RL has a habit of throwing spanners in the works. These spanners always seem to hit my Muse on the head and knock herout completely and even when she comes round she tends to be too grumpy to inspire me for a while. I will continue to do my best to update all of my unfinished stories and maybe invest in some protective headgear for said Muse. As I ever I appreciate any and all feedback and thank you to anyone who is patient enough to stay with me. J

Chapter 12

Danny tried to relax, tried to let everything go, let Chin and Kono take care of things. He really did. Hell he really needed to because he was in no condition to. . . well push himself shakily to his feet, for example, and then stumble along the wall and out onto the Lanai and figure out a half stumbling walk that didn't aggravate his injuries too much and didn't risk him face planting onto the ground as he moved across the open deck towards the trees that flanked the property. He was definitely in no condition to do that.

He took a step down off the wooden deck and jarred bruises and burns enough to draw an audible gasp of pain and a swallowing down of nausea. He took a moments' pause to regain his equilibrium, tell himself again that this was a really bad idea, in fact anything but lying on the ground very, very still and waiting for those nice EMTs with the good drugs was a bad idea, so why was he doing this again?

The reminder didn't take long.

'Steve'

In fact most of what he did these days, particularly when he had cause to question what he, they, were doing, usually was tagged with the same single word, but this time it wasn't the name that formed in his mind so much as the haunted, lost look on his partner's face and it was enough to spur him on. Screw everything else; he wasn't going to lie down until he knew that his partner was OK.

He hadn't had much control of anything for the past twenty four hours and he barely had control of this now, but until he found his partner, or actually passed out again, then he had to be doing something. That desire to be in control again almost eclipsed everything else, even if his conscious mind couldn't put a name to this overwhelming desire to just do something, anything, because he wanted to, because he needed to, not because he was being forced, or held, or bound, or hurt or. . .Dammit even now he could feel that tentative control slipping as the pain and shock tried to take him down.

He stumbled to the nearest tree and took a moment again to use it for support, his hands taking his weight first before he manoeuvred his shoulder clumsily into position, that was good, better, not feeling like he was a light breeze away from being blown to the ground was definitely better. It gave him the chance to focus a little more on where he was going rather than how he was getting there. Ok, he was his crazy partner heading to the nearest neighbour to find a phone and help. Which way would he go?

H50H50

Kono was at a loss and she knew from glancing up at her cousin that he wasn't doing any better on knowing what to do. Her gaze turned back to her traumatised boss. She'd dealt with plenty of victims even in her short time on the force and at 5 0. Rookie females were always given the 'look after the traumatised victims' detail, even if it was anachronistically sexist in the twenty first century, and maybe it was one of those things that actually had sound reasoning behind its apparent discrimination, because trauma victims needed empathy and that wasn't always something that her male counterparts, particularly those that had been on the force for twenty years, could provide, except of course all of her current team were exceptions to that rule, Steve and Danny perhaps most of all and that made it all the harder to accept that they were the traumatised victims in this case.

Danny Williams was not a victim.

Steve McGarrett was not a victim.

Damn, she bit her lip hard enough to draw a speck of blood as her gaze returned to her gently rocking friend. She was about to speak again to try to get Steve back from wherever his mind had retreated when a noise from behind drew her attention.

"Danny!"

She'd barely turned before Chin's sharp bark echoed across the clearing as Danny Williams stumbled past the nearest tree, reaching out to it for support and barely managing to stay upright by clinging on to the rough bark.

Chin was already moving even as Kono pushed herself to standing. It was amazing that Danny had made it this far and clear that he wasn't going to make it much further. In fact Chin barely made it to his side before Danny's legs finally gave up on supporting him, not that Kono was surprised by Danny's imminent collapse. What did draw a sharp intake of breath was that Steve beat Chin to Danny's side, as between them they caught their collapsing friend and lowered him to the ground. Danny was looking at Steve and there was a fleeting relief that he was there, that he'd made it far enough to find him, to know that he was all right even as his abused body finally began to shut down again, but it would be out of character for him to express the emotion that he felt in any other way than asking. "I thought you went for help, bet you haven't even called for an ambulance yet have you?"

Before his eyes rolled back and his body went completely limp.

"Danny!" It was Steve's turn to once again call his friend's name in alarm, panic gripping him as his fingers sought the pulse point on Danny's neck, total panic not ebbing until he felt the weak but steady beat beneath his fingers. He looked up and met Chin's gaze. "We need to get him to hospital- if we get him to the car the ambulance can meet us on the way."

If Chin was shocked by this sudden change in Steve from near catatonic to sharp and focused in the blink of an eye then he managed to hide it well as he responded. He looked up at his cousin. "Kono?"

"I got it," she replied pulling her cell and hitting one of the speed dial settings.

Meanwhile Chin's attention was back with Steve helping him manoeuvre Danny's limp body to a semi seated position so that they could link hands behind his back and under his legs and lift him between them. It was all done with the usual proficiency of the five-0 team as they communicated their intentions through single words and small gestures as though nothing was wrong, but everything was wrong and it was testament to the team's strength that they could still function at all.

Kono managed to lock eyes with her cousin just long enough for them to share a 'What the Hell?' incredulity at the sudden switch Steve had shown and receive a 'Hell if I know but let's just go with it,' look in return and then all three of them were moving covering the ground as rapidly as they could so they could get Danny to help, and, if anyone was asking to get Steve to some help too.

To be continued. . .


End file.
